Under the Watch of Stars
by Kelthemos of Nismon
Summary: At the Tree of souls, Jake Sully is released from his human weakness, he is free. But what of the Body he leaves behind? What of the human soul he abandoned, that night under the watch of stars...  Be sure to review!


**Under the Watch of Stars**

They stand over the body, pale and cold.

Its eyes are blank and its jaw is slack.

They look at the naked form. Its skin is ashen.

It is quiet, and the glow of the soul tree shines on the body.

The light makes the skin look gray, like dust.

They are quiet; they speak only in whispers, gazing at the other body.

It says nothing, blank eyes gazing into the darkness, away from the other body.

They stand over him, waiting; watching to see if the all-mother's work is done.

It lies where it is, wrapped in slowly retracting vines; forgotten.

His eyes open, brilliant gold set in cobalt and silver beading.

Its eyes are dull, half closed; the light is gone from them.

His chest rises and falls, lungs filling with the breath of new life.

It does not breathe, no air passes between its pallid lips; it has drowned in poisoned air.

He rises on unsteady feet; he is misbalanced. The others rush to support him.

It lies on the roots and stone of the cold ground. It cannot stand, and none come to aid it.

She kisses him, pressing her warm body against his own.

Its skin is cold, embraced by the dead earth below it.

His heart beats quicker in his chest.

It feels no beat, no tremor; its heart is idle.

The people cheer; they chant with fervor, the name of their savior born anew.

It stares; silent, and unmoved.

The priestess gives a benediction, thanks to the all-mother for the safe passage of the savior's soul.

It is deaf, and her words have no meaning to it.

A breeze causes her shawl to flutter in the wind, she shivers.

It cannot feel the breeze; it cannot feel anything.

They file out of the tree's grotto, leading their hero reborn to their home; eager to revel in this victory.

None stop to look at the husk, lying ashen in the light of the soul tree; none come to retrieve it from the ground.

He is at the front of the mob; as they reach the top of the basin he stops. He turns and looks down for a moment at the shell that he had been forever liberated from, small and pale; he thinks for a moment before joyful hands grasp him and pull him away to the celebrations.

The corpse lies alone; the grotto is silent. Left where it lay; it stares up into the heavens, blank eyes upturned to the sky. The breeze ruffles the close cropped hair on its head as it gazes towards the black emptiness; perhaps looking with sightless eyes to the long abandoned world from which it came. That world, just as it, lay in the cold darkness, alone and forgotten.

Far above the dead body of Jake Sully; the stars sit, indifferent.

* * *

Two days later, they return for the corpse.

It remains where it had been, propped against the base of the tree.

In the light of the early morning they began digging.

Its skin is waxy, and blotched with discolors of corruption; drawn tight about its bones.

He steps forward, staring with unease at the flesh he had abandoned.

It stares back.

He looks away; he cannot keep its frozen gaze.

Insects crawl over it, measuring the delicacy at their claws; squabbling for the choicest morsels.

She comes to him and places a comforting hand on his shoulder, speaking soothing words.

Flies cloud around it, tickling in vain, senseless flesh and futilely singing their cacophony for deafened ears.

Her eyes run across the rotting body with distaste. She looks into its eyes.

It calls her bluff, its glassy eyes unseeing, but piercing to the deepest parts of her soul.

She sniffs the air, and her nose wrinkles at the waves of nauseous charnel odor.

It cannot smell, and does not notice.

They finish the grave, only a few are present; too personal a thing for large crowds.

It does not care; it feels not pride or coy skittishness, its companions are as it and do not judge.

They begin; the priestess leads them in thoughtful prayer, appeals to the divine for her favor.

It does not join them; its throat is choked with blood and phlegm. The wind rattles in its dry mouth in a mockery of speech.

She finishes; the rest mumble their thanks to the all-mother's mercy.

It stays silent; these are prayers to an unfamiliar god; and no more comforting than the buzzing of the files.

The priestess motions; strong men come forward to fetch the body.

It simply looks at them, its eyes half closed, left where it lay.

The men stop before the corpse, uneasy at this alien dead.

Its body has begun to contort, its neck is twisted towards the people, and its mouth is locked in a rictus leer, frowning at the hero as if in disapproval.

He shudders slightly and the men reach down to grasp the corpse.

Death has taken its body fully; its limbs are stiff with decayed joints, and a congealed spine forces the body straight and unbending.

They look on at the twisted procession; the corpse in their arms is rigid. Its arms are turned upwards, as though in supplication, as though pleading. Its dim eyes meet each of their own and all are subject to its macabre grimace. They all shiver.

Like a prince of rot lying upon a palanquin of bodies, it is borne to the pit that has been dug for it.

He watches as they lower his former body into its grave, and feels some relief; yes, it goes to rest with Eywa now.

It lies on its back in the moist loam at the bottom of its grave. Flower petals like molten sunlight and drops of scented oil fall on and around it. It cannot smell the fragrance, and the beautiful color does not reach its glazed eyes.

The priestess recites songs of praise to the all-mother and places offerings for her into the grave.

Its hair is wetted with the oil; it drips down from his brow and into its eyes. It cries tears of oil from eyes that have dried up forever, summoned by grief it cannot feel.

He is troubled, but he stifles it with forced happiness. He is reborn, freed of the weak body that had chained his spirit. Yes, this was his triumph.

It watches as the people above give a final, hollow word of praise, and it watches as the all file away; all, except one.

He stares down into the grave. He cannot leave yet; squatting down, he reaches with tentative fingers for the silver chain around the corpse's neck. He avoids its knowing glare and slips the dog-tags off of it. Satisfied, he continues on with his memento.

* * *

It looks on as the people leave; one stays behind, a lowly man tasked with finishing its interment.

The old man huffs as he pushes soil into the grave and onto the corpse.

Its shrunken legs are covered with the dirt, and soon it would engulf it. It could not appreciate the irony; that it had held his soul for safekeeping, but even as it died, Jake Sully lived on. It couldn't wonder at its fate. As the cold soil submerged all but the barest of it, it did not feel the icy grip of its tomb; nothing was colder than the emptiness of death.

With a final grunt of exertion, the last of the soil fell into the grave covering the body's face.

It choked unharmed on the thick dirt that flooded its nose and mouth, it wanted not for air or sun. Soon the work of the jungle soil would reduce it to nothing, and it would just be more nutrients in the loam to be absorbed greedily by the tree that he was laid beneath. If its brain could function, perhaps it might have pondered what the future held. The god of this world was a strange and alien one; no peace for its ragged, human soul could be found with it. When it had been ground to dust in this earth, what would become of it? Would it ever find its way to the heaven whispered about during its life? The work of Pandora was quick, and already it began to break down and decay.

Was this its fate, was this its reward? To spend all time, trapped and unfeeling below the soil? To be eternally resigned to a numb vigil; to be left where it lay, alone and forgotten; and to be the provender of alien gods and watched by the uncaring stars?

* * *

**So in this, i was just thinking about the nature of the recently deceased and wondered about Jake Sully's corpse. I am of the opinion that bodies are at least somewhat aware during recent death, but are numb and detached (aka, the person's soul is nearby, but cutoff from their body). But in Sully's case, he kind of did a soul split when he relocated to another body, and so some of his soul remained trapped in the flesh and really, not able to leave since they are cut off from the "human" god; and is pretty well doomed to a twilight existence in between stages of existence until his body completely degrades and the soul will hopefully make it somewhere else.**

**I originally started with this turning into a zombieish thing, but decided to keep it more to a spiritual/horror thing. If anybody reads this and wants a short follow up with zombies, i can do that.**

**Hope you liked, and** _Avatar and all its characters are to the best of my knowledge the property of James Cameron._


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